


These Stars Aren't Imaginary

by popgothika



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: AU, Be gentle, Gen, I shouldn't have written this, I'm Sorry, Post-Apocalypse, Sad, first fic in the archive, rambling bleh, so very sad, this is the product of insomnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4169661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popgothika/pseuds/popgothika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, I'd like to believe the stars are still out there. That we're not the only people left alive on this desolate ruin of a rock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Stars Aren't Imaginary

Sometimes, I'd like to believe the stars are still out there. That we're not the only people left alive on this desolate ruin of a rock. 

Sometimes, sometimes I'd like to think that music was a thing. 

That it wasn't all in our minds. 

That we had purpose when we'd play. That when you'd pound your sticks against drumskin, or I'd bear my heart to the keys of a piano at three in the morning, that I wouldn't wake up in the grey dawn to cold sheets and shreds of a melody tearing at my lips. 

You've stopped sleeping with me. 

And if you do come to bed it's after I'm already dreaming of Before, clinging to dead thoughts. And you're always gone before I wake up. Already working at finding others. Finding life. Finding anything. Leaving only the faint scent of you behind that I desperately try to cling on.

But it's hard to cling to a ghost.

It's hard to love a shadow. Your hair was dyed when we first met. It's back to the original colour now. 

You're still beautiful. 

You used to smile, eyes and nose crinkling in the best ways, and it'd make my heart stutter in my chest. Now you've got crinkles of a different kind. Stress and age wearing you thin. You used to talk, the cadence of your voice reminding me that it would be okay. Now, now you're silent, and if you do say anything to me, your voice is hoarse, from lack of use. 

I still say that I love you every morning. 

And every night. 

And I think it all the moments inbetween. 

But you can't hear me. You won't hear me. You've left me alone.

You said it's hard to love a skeleton.

You said I changed. That my hair was falling out because I won't eat. That my ribs are as thin as matchsticks and a spark would send me up into flames. 

You said my mind is broken. 

That I'm broken. 

That I'm no longer beautiful. 

You said you don't love me anymore.


End file.
